The fog is silent, forgetful and doomed;
the city streets melodic and timeless
always in step, but lost in harmony,
and they all dance an endless somber waltz.
And I with my essence, a graceless couplet
dancing in all directions, carelessly slow;
one step, two step, a third, then a turn
into the mist, and then I'm lost again.
And it feels good to drift away,
to glide among the lucid streetlights
of my own Milky Way cluster,
in the night, alone with my own thoughts.
But soon I fall out of step into consciousness,
and I look to my watch, astonished at the time.
"It's getting late! I must head home before it's dawn.",
and the fog did not seem so hazy anymore.
Poetry Vomit 